


Kiss With A Fist

by Crayola_Kid



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crayola_Kid/pseuds/Crayola_Kid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Enjolras' revision technique is displeasing to his new neighbour, he certainly doesn't deserve the punch in the face.</p>
<p>The unfortunate story of how Enjolras and Grantaire meet for the first time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss With A Fist

**Author's Note:**

> I've looked over this once and I'm probably regret posting it. This is the first thing I've written in a while and I know that I've changed tenses a couple times so I'm just praying this is somewhat readable.
> 
> Here goes...

Enjolras was panting after his latest revision session when he opened his door.  
    
"It's nine am. On a Saturday morning. Kindly, shut the fuck up" was what the stranger in the doorway said. He had dark eyes and inky black hair and he was the personification of the word 'hangover'.   

Enjolras blinked and closed the door wordlessly. Blond hair was stuck to his face and his mind only allowed him a fatigue-hazed view of the world.

He took two steps back and paused still blinking at the door wearily. He couldn't quite comprehend what he did to warrant the stranger’s outburst. 

Enjolras waited a few seconds before he rubbed his eyes and recounted his steps to open the door. He stuck his tired head out into the corridor.

"Sorry" he called softly into the empty hall. Still not quite sure what he was apologizing for or to whom, he fell back inside.  

Again, Enjolras pressed into his eyes with the heels of his hands as he remembered that this being his new apartment, that man had to be his new neighbour. You generally get one of those, comes free with the place, and Enjolras had managed to piss his off already. 

It may have been his exhaustion affecting his already terrible facial recognition skills, but Enjolras swears he recognises the guy. Perhaps he saw him at a bar that he was dragged to by the Amis. The guy sure had smelt of a bar, the acrid smell of alcohol seeping into his own apartment from the hallway. 

The neighbour must have had a reason to intrude like that. Enjolras is sure he does really know why, but it's at the back of his mind and his mind just doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. His brain needs to wake up and to do that coffee is required. 

Enjolras decided to ponder on The guy no more and went to pour himself a cup of A-grade coffee that mysteriously got made sometime that morning. He sat back down on an unfamiliar wooden stool and drank the steaming beverage that he had no recollection of actually making.  

 The air in his apartment was still and colder than he was used to. Enjolras' bare feet swung through the chill as he read the paper.  

He had answered the door as he was getting changed and simultaneously prepping for an exam the next day, and he was too much lacking in energy or willpower to go back and put some socks on now. Besides he had a mug of coffee to drink and an article to finish--  

Wait. 

Enjolras' head snapped down to stare at his lap.  

The word  _Shitfuck_  shot through his mind.  

No wonder he was cold. His socks weren't the only pieces of clothing missing from his body. Enjolras had opened the door to an unknown man wearing only his red briefs and a frown.  

_Shitfuck_   

Apparently anything can happen to Enjolras when he hasn't had his morning coffee. Including opening his door, whilst practically naked, to stare at a beautiful stranger.  

Enjolras wondered warily how the word 'beautiful' had sneaked into that sentence.

He must be more tired than he had originally thought; the clothes-less experience and the magically-appearing coffee was more than proof of that, he supposes.  

The thought that he should probably apologise (though God knows what for) crosses his mind , but only after having his fourth mug of coffee.

 If Combeferre was here he'd probably be able to help Enjolras out a little. It was a common topic in his group of friends that Enjolras, despite being Enjolras, was the least socially adept of them all. Including Marius. 

Enjolras finished his drink and retrieved his jeans from the pile of clothes in his room. Closets are overrated for university students.

He also snags a stripy tee from one of the many moving boxes scattered around the flat to tug over his golden curls.  

Enjolras takes a deep breath and then stands on his bed. He closes his eyes  and envisions a crowd of thousands before him, cheering him on. But today his cause is revision rather than revolution and when he speaks to the people it is more along the lines of 'Clause 19: The owner of such properties in such sectors..!'  than 'Down with the Patriarchy!' that rallies them.  

Only four minutes into his speech/revision/pre-law-revolution Enjolras is rudely interrupted by someone hammering on his door again and the sound of what could only be someone's broom hitting his floor from the apartment below.  

Confused and angered at this interruption he graciously leapt off his bed and stormed over to the door.   

"Wha-"  

The same guy from earlier stood there with his fist in the air, swinging down to meet a door that was no longer there.

 Enjolras has never had good reflexes so when he sees the fist sailing towards his face instead of dodging it he leans in and headbutts it.   
   
This is the third internal  _shitfuck_  of the day and Enjolras has only been awake for an hour.    
He finds himself sitting on the floor quite suddenly.   

"Dude, shit! Are you okay?-Oh shit you're bleeding! Shit."  

Enjolras is still confused. Since when did he choose to sit on the floor and why is this guy crouching in front of him? Oh that's right -"You fucking punched me?" Enjolras shouts.  

The Guy winces and responds with "Not on purpose? I just was going to ask for you to keep it down over there!"

His knee cracks from his position in front of Enjolras, causing Enjolras to wince. Wincing hurts, as it turns out, and now his ears ring and he is just seething even more.   
    
"Sorry, yeah. I guess I did" The Guy says.  

Enjolras notes that The Guy doesn't look particularly sorry. In fact, The Guy has the gall to smile crookedly from underneath his black curls of hair.    
"Why are you  _smiling_  when you just  _punched_  me in the  _face?_ No-- Scrap that, why did you punch me in the face?" Enjolras demands, cradling his cheek and using his other hand to keep him balanced as he leans on his door for support.  

The Guy opens his mouth to make a snarky reply but is silenced when Enjolras gasps.  
     
The pieces of an unfortunate puzzle begin to connect in Enjolras' mind. If Enjolras is leaning on his door, then the door is shut. If the door is shut then Enjolras is-  

"I'm locked out!" Enjolras exclaimed. He buries his head in his hands, uncaring of how much it bloody hurts. He will not look at this guy. He will not.  This is _his_ fault.

"Sorry?" The guy asks sheepishly, obviously trying and failing to be sympathetic. He soon gives up trying as Enjolras soon finds out.  

"I said I'm locked out. Oh god my phone is in there along with all my keys and my coffee and my-"  

 "-Socks"  The Guy adds as he smiles wildly and starts to laugh.   

"What?"  

Enjolras is clearly missing something. He's obviously furious but the Guy isn't put off his conversational course.  

The Guy continues nonchalantly. Enjolras still isn't looking up at him.   
   
"You're not wearing socks." the stranger encourages "why?"  

"Are you seriously asking me, the guy you just punched (and also locked out, by the way) why I'm not fucking wearing  _socks?_ " Enjolras is dismayed at the man and he hopes it shows. His feet are fucking cold and his face fucking hurts.

 He lifts his head from his hands to give him a deadly glare and notices a bead of blood in the corner of his vision. He wipes his bloody nose on his already red shirt. Joly would have a heart attack if he saw this, Enjolras thinks, a random and irrelevant musing that is quickly forgotten as he pulls his knees close into his body.   

Apparently this is a stellar chance for The Guy to try and pick up the conversation again.  

"Well, on the bright side, you're not nearly-nude this time. I tell you I was  _not_  expecting that when I knocked on your door. It's Grantaire, by the way" the man beams. 

"What is?" Enjolras asked. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to follow this steady stream of words tumbling from The Guys mouth. 

"Uh- my name, you idiot?" Grantaire answers, slightly concerned. 

The guy-- or Grantaire as he now introduced himself-- was still balanced precariously in front of Enjolras in their shared hall, joints in his knees popping and cracking lazily. 

Enjolras looked up at Grantaire and stays silent for a record-breaking thirty seconds before he exclaims "I'm locked out! And you're really not helping!" His frustration is reflected in the wide and frantic gestures of his arms. 

Grantaire is caught off guard as he watches the spectacle before him flush red with fury, even in his curled up position on the floor he radiates anger and power, and it catches Grantaire off balance.

 Grantaire has to embarrassingly brace himself to avoid falling on quite literally, The Boy Next Door. 

Grantaire retorts anyway. He wants to see the boy angry again. 

"Hello Locked Out, as I've said already I'm Grantaire. So far the things I know about you, Locked Out, is that you're very shouty, I punched you totally by accident in the face, and that you are ridiculously terrible at dressing yourself."  

Enjolras hisses and pushes Grantaire onto his ass. He lands with a satisfying thud and an even more satisfying 'ow'. 

"Okay! Okay, I'll stop!" Grantaire promises from his position on the floor, hands up in mock surrender. 

Enjolras didn't even give spare a glance, pouting at the floor as Grantaire physically and mentally writhes for his attention.

 Grantaire knew that whatever their 'relationship' was to be in future was going to surely end in tragedy.

Just sitting in this hall with the beautiful blond boy, Grantaire felt burnt inside and out. 

And of course, Grantaire invited the boy inside his house. 

"Okay Apollo, you're quite obviously cold and maybe concussed-" Grantaire deadpanned. 

"I am not" Enjolras reprimanded. 

"-anyway, would you like to come in?" Grantaire asked. Upon noticing his neighbour's confusion He twisted round to face his own door as if to point out his meaning. 

Enjolras had to snap out of it. Had to remember that, yeah, this stupid prick did actually live here and wasn’t actually an annoyingly attractive demon sent from the deepest parts of hell just to torment him. 

Enjolras found himself longing to go inside the door across the hall, propped open with a bottle of something. 

So he wasn't entirely surprised that he had already answered the question and was being pulled up by a dark and calloused hand. 

Inside Grantaire's flat it was dark and musty and littered with canvases and countless bottles, empty and full and acting as door props, candles and paperweights. 

It also smelled of cigarettes and sweat and chemicals but Enjolras didn't much care. Neither did Grantaire, evidently.

Enjolras always had a weird thing for living spaces and how they reveal people's character. At the same time as not judging Grantaire for the state of the room he was judging Grantaire and his character, personality and how the room could reflect it. 

Grantaire noticed Enjolras' analytical stare and mistook it for something akin to disgust. 

 

"Sorry" Grantaire said as he kicked a beer bottle out of their immediate path to the sofa in the centre of the wooden floor. It was a dirty green island in the sea of cans and pages strewn across the floor.    
"If I had known that I would be having you over...I would've cleared up for you, Apollo" He waivered, staring at the mess with an unflattering blush. 

Enjolras looked over at him and tried to usher an encouraging smile on to his face. It probably turned into a grimace though because Enjolras just realised what Grantaire had called him. 

"Don't call me that!" Enjolras snapped, brown furrowing as he went on to pick at Grantaire. "Do you have a problem with calling people by their names? What is it, why are you laughing at me? Tell me!" He demanded as Grantaire snorted. 

"You've had to have realised that you haven't actually given me a name to call you by? You've just moaned a lot..." Grantaire meandered about, kicking paper as he looked up at the blond boy. 

"I know I've told you. You've just forgotten" The blond boy grumbled.  
   
Grantaire coughed expectantly.  

"What?" Enjolras asks, defensives rising instinctively. 

"Are you fucking with me? You still haven't told me your name?" Grantaire urged, he face palmed violently and threw his head back in harsh uncontrollable laughter. 

Enjolras only pulled himself taller and shouted. "Don't laugh at me! My name is Enjolras--" 

"Bless you" Grantaire smiled. 

Enjolras couldn't help the smile that flashed across his lips. He turns away from Grantaire to hide it. 

"That joke is so over-used" Enjolras complains, turning back around when he composes himself. 

Grantaire slumps on the couch and gestures for Enjolras to sit down.  

Enjolras looks at the sofa and studies its distinctive and suspicious stains. He perches on the end and then he instead studies Grantaire sitting across from him. 

For the first time, Enjolras views tattoos peeking out from underneath the arms of his neighbours green hoodie. For the first time, Enjolras sees Grantaire's paint splattered stubble and his bloodied lip and tired eyes and for the first time that morning, Enjolras sympathises with someone other than himself but someone just as exhausted and beaten. 

Enjolras is by no means a selfish person, but it is known that he focuses more on the bigger picture than on the individual person that is set before him, and he often overlooks people that down seem abjectly helpful to either him or his cause. 

"I was knocking on your door because you were being a noisy fuck. Just thought you should know, so that in future you aren't so fucking loud. It wasn't my intention to punch you. Really." Grantaire mumbles. 

Grantaire's head hangs over the back of the sofa, the beanie he previously wore sliding to the floor after losing it's grip on his curls. 

And, just like that, everything succumbs to gravity. 

 Though neither of them speaks they both can feel something unfamiliar settle inside them.   
Enjolras hears Courfeyrac bounding up the stairs an hour later, singing echoes in the corridor outside Grantaire's flat warning them both of his arrival.

Enjolras is immediately out of there, saying an awkward goodbye as he hears a locked door open.

Courfeyrac asks about Grantaire when the sit in Enjolras’ apartment later. He exaggerates the punch. He needed an excuse for Courfeyrac to believe how riled up he was, somehow easier not saying that it was directly the neighbour that took his breath away, but the neighbour’s fist.

Grantaire and Enjolras are alone soon again, and only a wall between them. The corridor has become a no mans land.

They both are relieved to be rid of the silence of that morning and yet were unprepared to let it go. 

Enjolras thinks positively. Enjolras gets his coffee and his socks in the end, and most importantly his apartment. 

But for a cynic, it is much harder to delude yourself that ‘nothing happened’.  
   
Grantaire finds excuses.

He leans in Enjolras' doorway, blushing awkwardly and asking for a cup of sugar, because that's what normal people do right? 

Combeferre is hiding just out of view, with thumbs up and watching from within the apartment.

After that Grantaire receives an anonymous invitation to the Café Musain. When he doesn't attend, and when Enjolras not-so-anonymously ends up at his door the night after, demanding him to come, he makes every effort to be there the next time.   
  


End file.
